


Make This Come True

by HalosandSeeds



Category: Nine Inch Nails (Band), Tori Amos (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Groupies, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 06:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalosandSeeds/pseuds/HalosandSeeds
Summary: He is the scorching demon. She is the soothing angel. Whatever the case, opposites attract and begin a strong, sweet friendship that eventually becomes a budding romance between the two. With this hidden romance comes challenges and trials however, and both Trent and Tori struggle in the middle of it, at odds with the world and sadly at odds with each other. Is their love and friendship strong enough to drown out the rumors and slander? Or will it tear them apart?





	Make This Come True

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a Trent Reznor x Tori Amos Fanfiction series. To be honest, it has been on my mind for a while and I hope you all will enjoy reading it as I know I will most certainly enjoy writing it. This will be my second attempt at writing a fantasized heterosexual couple so bare with me on this. The story will focus on the lives of Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails and Tori Amos with her self-named group. I am going to do my best to portray their personalities as it would have been around each other and other people such as Courtney Love, Robin Finck, Marilyn Manson, and several others who will also be in the series. Please keep in mind that this is just fiction however, so none of what I will be writing about will be true. This is simply a series romanticizing the possible relationship Trent and Tori had together. Enjoy. ☺
> 
> Disclaimer!!  
> This work is purely fiction, and does in no way portray exact events to their truest nature. Some events that both people have mentioned in previous interviews will be shown but not to the exact detail because again, this is a work of fiction.   
> I do not own Trent Reznor (though I wish to), Nine Inch Nails, Tori Amos, Marilyn Manson, Courtney Love, or any of the other people mentioned in this series. Personas that are portrayed in this series by the characters are fake and in no way do they portray the actual personalities of the people written.   
> I, the author, hold all legal rights to this work of fiction and will not allow it to be reposted or distributed by anyone else except myself. ©

When Trent finally managed to stir and crack his eyes open, he found he was lying across the carpet, legs sprawled over someone’s head and his own head resting against someone’s leg, mouth open and dried spit along the corners of his lips; shit, he probably drooled all over them whoever they were. Gross.

 

Trent raised his head, bleary eyed and glanced around the spacious room. For a moment, he completely forgot it was his own living room in the Tate house. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and cracked his neck from side to side, feeling the familiar ache from sleeping wrong. He would need some Advil to go with breakfast, maybe a couple hundred considering the headache that rushed to meet him now that he was fully awake. Hangover. Perfect.

 

He should have expected it really, especially with what happened last night. As soon as he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes, Trent immediately remembered the course of events that occurred and left him blushing and groaning regretfully under his breath. The leg under his head was Brian’s of course, but he quickly shifted his position and got to his feet once he realized who’s nose had the absolute pleasure of waking up to his feet in their face. Just a few random groupies. Nothing new. And they probably wouldn’t have minded his feet in their face. Some of them have even begged him to kick them in a few encounters.

 

Sighing loudly, Trent raised his arms over his head and stretched, squeezing his eyes shut before venturing to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of Advil out of the pantry. Filling a cup of tap water, Trent popped three of the pills into his mouth and downed the drink soon after. Someone gently nudged him out of the way, and he turned to face Brian, who looked like he felt worse than he did. Trent shifted to the side and watched him stumble to the sink, turn on the faucet, and splash some water on his already makeup-smudged face. He almost giggled when Brian turned to face him and dried himself off with one of the kitchen towels, but he didn’t. _We only seem to like each other when we’re practically inebriated now a days._

 

Pushing that heavy thought aside, Trent set down his drink and glanced around him towards the entrance of the living room. He turned back to Brian, who stared at him, expecting him to speak first. That expression couldn’t be more familiar; Trent had seen it from his protégé many times sometimes at Scott, most of the time directed at him. He hated that look. In fact, there were a lot of things he was starting to hate about him. Not like he hated him. He didn’t. Too much was changing in so little time. And he hated that. Nothing could be worse than change. And the constant struggle of regrouping and having back up plans and never being as perfect as he wanted to be…

 

“Think she’ll be upset if I ask for an early morning blow job?”

 

Brian’s blatant and rather unorthodox question startled Trent out of his diverse and intrusive thoughts. He blinked once and then shook his head, mumbling something like “they’re expecting kisses and cuddles, dipshit” under his breath. He didn’t care if Brian heard him or not.

 

As he walked away, Trent said aloud, “They better be gone by the time you’re done.” He heard Brian scoff behind him, but rather than care over the petty things, Trent walked over the sleeping obstacles in his way and made the trek to his bedroom. No one should disturb him in there, he thought contentedly and observing the piles of crumpled paper and the ancient drum kit, Trent grew nostalgic as he got dressed and sat down immediately with the initiative to cure his ever-increasing writer’s block.

 

The Spiral had been a hit. More than a hit. It had been a worldwide smash. It put Nine Inch Nails on the map, that was for certain, and it wasn’t another so-called “abortion”. It was real. It was appreciated. It was raw. It had stripped him naked, bore his soul to the world, and shown everyone who decided he was worth listening to that his words meant something, not only to him but to them as well.

 

And yet, here he was, brooding over a block that wouldn’t quit. Something was off in him that bothered many, including himself. Too many things wracked his brain. Nothing was as “simple” and as fun anymore. Everyone was seeking a new direction, and when Brian decided he was going to hop on the bandwagon to fame, Trent knew he couldn’t hold him back forever. And then Antichrist Superstar happened.

 

And so many people left.

 

And his friendship with Scott shattered.

 

And his friendship or whatever the hell it was these days with Brian was shattering right before his eyes. And Brian didn’t even seem to care.

 

If Trent wasn’t going to put out as much as he did during the Spiral, then everyone would leave. Everyone _was_ leaving; most of the time he blamed himself, but there were some black thoughts that forced him to blame everyone else. No one understood him. His pain. His sadness. None of it. What would it take? Another fucking album. Trent didn’t even know anymore.

 

Crumpling an abandoned idea, Trent threw it somewhere to never be thought of again and angrily got up until a knock came at his door.

 

The door opened before he could even tell whoever it was to fuck off and one of the girls stood there. Nina, Phoebe, whoever the fuck. He didn’t care. Trent’s patience was wearing thin.

 

“What?” Trent asked, trying to sound as less agitated as possible.

 

The girl or roadie or groupie or whatever they called them nowadays just stood there and cocked her hip, arms crossed, her entire body leaning against the doorframe. Or, rather, she tried to keep herself together and maintain that pose but obvious and still prevalent inebriation hindered her from succeeding and she stumbled before managing to right herself.

 

“Manson’s in the other room with Phoebe…” she slurred, rolling her eyes swathed and smudged in tasteless black eyeliner. “He sent me to you to, ya know, cheer you up.”

 

“Christ,” Trent spat and stalked past her towards the sound of loud, aroused moans. “All right, _out,_ ” he demanded loudly, abruptly opening the door to the room next to his.

 

Sure enough, Brian’s “early morning blow job” was interrupted, and he sat up instantly while the girl at his feet scrambled away and ran out of the room, naked and all. Trent sighed frustrated, and it only took one look between the two of them for all hell to break loose.

 

“Why do you have to turn everything I do for you into a gigantic fucking mistake?”

 

“Oh, get off your fucking high horse. This was _exactly_ the reason why I suggested we take a break from drugs in the first place! And now here I am, struggling with a massive hangover while I listen to you attempt to bone two sluts in the next room.”

 

“So you coming to me with a bag of blow is my fault now? Hmm… I wasn’t the one snorting it on some girl’s ass cheek last night.”

 

“Because you’re a pusher, Brian! You’re the dope fiend. Not me-“

 

“The _fuck_ you just call me? _Dope fiend_? You obviously don’t realize how much of a fucking junkie you are, Reznor.”

 

“Fuck off, Brian…”

 

“Oh, that’s rich. Really. Blame your problems on me again. Keep pushing me away, Trent, and I’ll really go.”

 

“Then _go._ I have work to do.”

 

Trent had slammed the door before Brian even had a chance to retort. He could hear him cussing even as he was walking away and sighed, thoroughly agitated. Was shattering? Shattered.

 

“Fuck!” He practically screamed it, throwing whatever had gotten into his hands halfway across the living room. He blindly reached for more, hearing where it smashed into a million pieces, not caring what it was. Just break it. Break shit. It’s what you do best, isn’t it? Break friendships and relationships, and now you’re the one who will be picking up the pieces.

 

The knock on the door came softly, and Trent, lying on his back on the floor, was surprised he even heard it. He sighed, willing the person away, but the knock came again in earnest this time, but still with a softness that was almost soothing.

 

For a moment, Trent thought it was Brian back to apologize or fight or fuck and fight some more. He got up, his head spinning and approached the door, stumbling a bit. He had a few choice words ready, but once he opened the door, Trent was actually pleasantly surprised at who was on the other side. He knew that head of red wavy tendrils anywhere and almost beamed when their eyes locked. Two true blue ones stared back, and all at once, Trent wished to get lost, possibly drown in their sea.

 

A calm, pleasant smile flashed at him, and Trent blinked when the perfect pair of lips pressed a sweet kiss in greeting to his cheek.

 

“Whew! Someone needs a shower. Hey, love.” And in she went.

 

Trent blinked again and absentmindedly touched where she had kissed him before murmuring softly, “Hey, Tori.”


End file.
